


hey girl! just left my abusive ex husband

by tay3po



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 2020 L'Manberg Election on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alexis | Quackity Needs a Hug, Alexis | Quackity-centric, Angst, Confrontations, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Implied Manipulation, Implied Previous Schlattbur, M/M, Mentioned Toby Smith | Tubbo, Mentioned Wilbur Soot, One-Sided Relationship, i started this at 3am sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28851582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tay3po/pseuds/tay3po
Summary: i havent written in years but uhthere wasnt enough quackity/schlatt angst on this website so i made a playlist with some friends and here we arebut yeah just some dsmp!alex/schlatt pain
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt, Jschlatt/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 3
Kudos: 70





	hey girl! just left my abusive ex husband

**Author's Note:**

> uh heres the playlist its based on  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0gilJbC1MN7PxzQJur99Tk
> 
> theres prob spelling and grammar errors im tired asf

It'd been almost a week since your last argument. After one of your normal arguments, one of you would simply storm off and come back a few hours later. It was bearable, I mean, it could be worse, but this time it was different. This time it wasn't over a joke about his quite obvious alcohol problem or his obsession over Wilbur Soot or how much money he'd spent on fucking steroids and protein powder, this time you called him out on his bullshit, shit he may have not even realized he was doing.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

All you do is stare back at him. He looks almost surprised that you came back as if this isn't what you guys always did. His outfit hasn't changed, but when has it. He still looks pathetic- like a stereotype from a shitty film student's project on what substance abuse and divorce does to a rich businessman, the loose red tie, the wrinkled suit. It's not that you were divorced- yet- but goddamn, he looked like a dude that just got divorced and had been mourning over the documents for weeks. It’s funny that he would question why you were here as if this place wasn’t just as much yours as it is his. 

Finally, after 30 seconds of silence, you speak up, “Did you forget I live here too? You know, *our* house. Your voice sounded louder in your head and the silence that followed didn't help. There was an attempt to use your whole voice to answer but you know it didn’t come out that way. The weight of the room felt heavy. You didn't really mean to fuck off completely for a whole week, or maybe you did. Details aside, you needed to get your clothes that you had left. The silence continues through the messy living room. Damn, you left for a week and this fucker can't even keep beer bottles from piling on the coffee table. The plan was simple. Show up at 11 pm, grab your shit, and dip back to Karl's until you decided to find a new place to live out of Manburg- ANYWHERE besides Manburg. You didn’t come to argue, but if this is what's going to happen, it is his turn to speak.

"Did YOU forget you live here? And babe, chill with the first-person pronouns,” Schlatt said almost on cue. His words don't seem as slurred as you'd remembered and expected them to be after seeing the state of the living room.

You still haven't processed that his voice hasn't changed. Even though it's been a week it feels like maybe something should've changed. It definitely has felt longer than a week. You can only pretend like there wasn’t a wave of relief during the entire week, a weight lifted off of your shoulders. You weren’t babysitting his ass, it was almost nice not being in his company. Something nagging at the back of your brain told you to come back though. Not telling him wouldn’t feel right.

Once again, the room was full of dead air. You shove your hands into your pockets and sigh, " I didn't think you'd be awake."

A loud scoff fills the dead room, "You didn't think I'd be awake... at 11 pm? Don’t bullshit. Go ahead Alex, explain why you didn't think I'd be awake at 11 fucking pm. Did you think I'd be passed out on the couch? Bet you thought I'd be just fucking exhausted from- what was it-"

“Okay. I get it...” you cut him off. You didn’t come here to argue. Get your shit. Get the fuck out. The nagging in the back of your head began to throb. No arguing needed- but you know him, of course, it’s going to become an argument.

“Ohhhhh!! You get it! This just in everyone Alex Quackity gets it!” He’s not trying to hide the bitterness in his voice while throwing his hands up in the air in exclamation.

“Listen-“ you start. Get your shit. Get the fuck out.

“OH!!! Alex wants me to LISTEN????” 

You can feel him staring you down and your eyes stay fixated on the tiled floor. Get your shit. Get the fuck out. Your beginning to think that there is no way to do this without bickering. It’s not like you didn’t technically start it a week ago, but you did it to try and help him. Trying to explain how what he was doing was bad, how he was hurting people. You may have driven in too hard by mentioning Tubbo and Wilbur that time. It’s not that Wilbur was a forbidden name in the household, the name was brought up a little too often to be completely honest. However, there was an unspoken pact to not mention Tubbo. Now it’s had a week to simmer. A week to sit in the pot of water, with a glass lid on top of it. Took a goddamn week but from the looks of it, the simmer was roaring to a boil. Schlatt turns as if to talk to someone in the room who isn't there, ”Did you hear that? Alex wants me to listen.” Followed by another sarcastic, forced laugh, “Okay Alex, I’ll listen,” his voice is full of spite, “But are you going to answer why the fuck you’re here right now because it is fucking amazing how you managed to completely ignore the question.”

You knew if you spat something back, this would go on for longer. Get your shit. Get the fuck out. 

“I’m getting my clothes Schlatt.” The truth was most of your clothes sat in a suitcase at Karl’s that you had packed a week ago. You can pretend like you didn’t purposely leave some just in case you felt like maybe, somehow, this could be fixed. You're not going to admit that though.

“Ah yes right, getting your clothes,” He turns to the imaginary silhouette again, “He’s getting his clothes isn't that nice.” He looks back towards you, “Does Sapnap not have clothes for you to use?” He pauses, “I’m assuming you're staying with Sapnap right.” It’s not a question.

“I’m not staying with Sapnap,” you try to say it in the calmest way as possible but Schlatt’s hand still reaches to the bridge of his nose, you can’t tell if he’s being dramatic or just tending to the Alex induced headache emerging and now he’s not looking at you again.

“There we fucking go again. The motherfucker that wants to preach listening isn’t fucking listening.”

“I answered your goddamn question.”

“No, you didn’t.”

The small attempt at closure hidden behind a rom-com cliche was long gone. If closure was accessible at this point it wasn’t going to be pretty. Bittersweet at best maybe. Part of you wanted to apologize for bringing up Tubbo last week but that went against the plan. Get your shit. Get the fuck out. Plus, the nagging at the back of your head said that there was something more important to get out.

“Yeah okay,” he drags himself toward the exercise equipment on the other side of the living you and you audibly sigh.

“Can you not fucking work out so we can have an actual conversation.”

He ignores you for a moment while counting his reps, “You obviously don’t want to have a normal conversation. I’m simply waiting for you to stop sitting there like an ass and say something.”

You loudly sigh, “I’m not staying with Sapnap.”

“...8. 9. 10.” He groans, “Wow. Fun fact: I actually don't give a shit about who you’re staying with. You not being here gives me more time to get ripped as fuck. Can you tell? I’m so fucking ripped now, so thank you.”

“I am going to get my clothes now.”

He ignores you and continues counting and you take that as your cue to start walking towards the bedroom. You pause when he starts speaking, “Thought you weren’t coming back.” He says it as if he’s shrugging it off.

“Are you going to let this go now so I get my shit?”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“Did I not?”

Again. Silence. You step into the room and open the closet to find 2 hoodies that you purposely hid in between suits and work out clothes so that he wouldn’t find them and shove them into your arms.

“Hey Alex,” Schlatt shouts from the living room while trying to hide that he isn't out of breath, “You don’t have any clothes here to pick up. Nice try.” That's when you walk out of the bedroom with the two hoodies in ur arms and make your way toward his general direction. He shrugs, “Yeah okay. You would pull that shit,” he pauses, sets down his equipment, and looks up at you, “where’d you hide them?” You don't answer and he stands up. He does so without tripping over himself. At this moment that you piece together, he’s not drunk. You weren’t 100% sure before. He’s still been drinking, but as of right now, motherfucker is sober. You are about to comment on it when he interrupts your thoughts, “Yeah, it’s been like three days.”

It’s worse arguing with him when he’s sober. It’s only happened once before with the topic of the exchange being Tubbo. The worst part about sober-arguing isn't that you know it he’ll actually remember it, it's that and it’ll be the reason he starts drinking in an hour. The fact that you even care about hurting his feelings after all this shit is stupid as hell.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that,” you’re not going to let your guard down right now, it doesn’t matter if he’s sober, “..do you want a fucking cookie,” you spit out.

You push down the part of you that feels bad, the part of you that wants to apologize and sit on the couch and pretend as none of this happened. The bad feeling is being buried by the nagging still continuing the back of your head. You knew if you came back here that there was a chance that this would happen. However, a gut feeling mixed with the nagging kept telling you that you still had to leave Manburg.  
All he does is stare back at you and you finally meet his eyes. Get your shit. Get the fuck out.

“‘Kay. You got your shit. You can leave now or are you finally going to stop with this shit and tell me why you’re actually here.”

You pretend like you’re silently debating it but you know you’re going to tell him. With a sigh, you finally tell him, “They’re planning on betraying us.”

Another scoff comes from him, “You think I don’t know that?” He begins to walk closer than you and you back up.

“Are you- are you actually fucking kidding me.” You feel something bubbling in your chest. We’ll call it anger, maybe because that's easier. It is so much easier to just call this anger. “Schlatt, I am literally the only person that isn’t planning somethin-“

“Yeah? You’re not planning something?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, Alex.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘okay Alex’, everyone is against us Schlatt. Literally, not one person is on our goddamn side,”

“And now you’re going to preach about ‘us’? After you fucked off for a week?”

“That's not- you know- I’m talking about work Schlatt. I’m talking about Manbur-“

“HOLY SHIT WHO CARES!!? JESUS, WHO THE FUCK CARES ABOUT MANBURG?!?”

Now you know you’re going to regret this part, “Dude what, I care about Manburg...Tubbo cares about-”

“Hold on. Back the fuck up- now we’re talking about Tubbo?,” he takes a breath, “You know what, fucking try me, Alex, since you know so fucking much about Tubbo, please enlighten me,” he steps closer.

Something heavy begins to build at the back of your throat again. ‘It’s anger,’ you tell yourself once again. The back of your brain is telling you to stop. Get the shit. Get the fuck out. You speak again but it out much smaller than you mean it to, you’re choking on your “anger”, “Tubbo’s a spy, dude.”

“You really don’t know shit, do you. No shit Tubbo’s a spy. You seriously thought Tubbo was on my side-“

“..Our side.”

“You actually believed that Tubbo was going to- I’m a drunk Alex, not a moron. Anyway, I have a plan for that. Tubbo’s not the only one that’s been working with people secretly,” you’re not looking at him anymore but you can hear him smirking.

“Schlatt, I really just don’t think you’re hearing me. Him and Wilbu-“

“IM NOT HEARING YOU??? Alex. What part of I do not give a single shit about Manburg do you not fucking understand?”

“But Wilbur-“

“Hey guess what!!? I. do. not. care. I don’t care about Wilbur’s plans, I don’t care about Tubbo’s bullshit, I don’t even care about the fucking walls!”

“I have an idea though. I think we should just consider-“

“YEAH, I HAVE AN IDEA TOO!” He spreads his hands out and then clasps them together.

“Dude. How long have you known about this shit-“

“Eh. A week or two.”

“And you didn’t think to fucking tell me? You know? Your Vice President?”

“You didn’t really give me a choice.”

“Didn’t give you-? Are you fucking serious? Fuck you. Actually fuck you.”

The anger in Schlatt’s voice begins to fade, “This isn't any different than what you just did I don’t know why you’re mad. Maybe if you learned how to fucking communicate-“ He’s doing the thing. The thing where he decides to make YOU feel like you’re insane, he does it so easily too.

“Yeah okay because you’re the goddamn king of communication, right?” This is about to hurt, “Because you’re so good about talking about your feelings? What about fucking Wilbur, huh? I don’t think we talk about that enough.”

“I think we talk about it far too much to be honest,” Schlatt doesn’t even sound mad. If he is he isn’t showing it.

“No. We really don’t. I bring it up, you brush it off. So here I am right now. Talking about it. Why don’t you fucking share, Schlatt?” You know how he feels about Wilbur. You just want to hear him say it. He’s not going to though. No matter what he says next. You know it’s going to be a lie. The fact that he isn’t saying anything right now is enough to make you storm out right now, “You love him, right? Still? Can you not just fucking say it?” There was no saving this talk at this point. You’re free falling off of the goddamn Grand Canyon.

“Shut up. Fuck you.”

Your volume goes down to make one bitter statement, “You love him.” And that’s the conviction, that is the conclusion. “And you wanna know what the worst part is Schlatt?” You want to stoop down to his level for a single moment, tell how the worst part is that you knew. Tell him how the whole time you knew how he felt and you still stayed. You want to make him feel bad, but you can’t, even after this you can’t.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yeah I do.”

“Hey, you wanna get the fuck out maybe?”

“So you can wallow in your alcoholism. Yeah Schlatt, sure,” you don’t actually want to. You want to be able to help him. Fix him? Maybe. He’s too far gone at this point. Three days sober but with one mention of Wilbur or Tubbo and you know he’s going to be wasted out of his goddamn mind, “And if it wasn't clear, I quit.”

**Author's Note:**

> okay sorry bye whyd i do this


End file.
